False Summer

They’re saying it will reach 80F several days this week; false summer has arrived. At least it’ll cool off rapidly at night. I am completely done with sweating from every inch. Some of the trees, heat-stressed and sensing the plummeting temperatures when the sun falls, have already finished turning. I am not sure the dogwood in the back corner will survive to next year; even with the sprinklers it doesn’t get enough water to get it through those hideous days of above 90F.

Thank goodness those are gone. At least until next year.

Sir Boxnoggin has been with us for two months now, give or take a few days, and nobody here can imagine life without him. He’s begun to show even more of his goofy, gooberish self–he was upside-down on my bed last night, twisting to look up at me while I scratched his belly, and I began to laugh. Shy, they said. Low-energy, they said.

They also said he’s three years old, but if this dog is older than two I will eat both my running shoes, without ketchup. He’s still growing, for God’s sake. His paws have mushroomed and that’s a sure sign he’s got more expanding to do. Right now he’s pretty leggy, and I’m hoping he’ll fill out with exercise and plenty of food.

Miss B has found herself acting younger lately too. All the exercise from herding Lord van der Sploot and wrestling with his puppyish self has done her no end of good. She still looks for Odd Trundles sometimes, nosing in corners and uttering her particular motherly bark for him, but all in all Sir Boxnoggin keeps her busy and distracted. A younger dog who treats her just as she treated older dogs when she was much bouncier and chewier is karma, and hilarious to see. They play constantly, and the only break is when someone is in the kitchen and I’m in the office, or when they’re both asleep. Or when one or the other of them takes shelter between my ankles. A few sessions with the spray bottle while they were attempting to wrestle underfoot took care of that.

In short, the canine contingent here at Chez Saintcrow is quite pleased with itself in every degree. They’re ready for fall. Winter running with Lord Boxnoggin may necessitate a jacket to keep him from getting too cold, since he doesn’t have Miss B’s lovely undercoat. I have never dressed a dog before, but I’ll do it for this goober.

I mean, just look at that face.

Off we go, then. Have a good Tuesday, my friends. Mine will include a great deal of barking and wrestling.